


Friendship

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Series: A New Start [10]
Category: Belgravia (TV)
Genre: Angst, Belonging, Class Differences, Friendship, Gen, Redemption, Servants, an evil wastebasket, victorian london
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: What a strange thing chance is!-A plan to boost his meagre pension fund and to give him a comfortable life after retirement has all gone terribly wrong for charismatic butler Turton! He's been given the old 'heave ho', kicked out on his ear with only the most basic of references. What is he going to do next?The lone wolf that is Amos Turton has to start all over again. Learning how to fit into this new, weird household is tricky when you're used to following your own rules. Within the confines of the rigid Victorian class system of course. Well, mostly... He's keeping quiet, biding his time and thinking of the money and his pension pot!Victorian London is really not a kind place for the serving classes and definitely not a good place to be destitute and poor. Which he is in danger of becoming...-Set in the Belgravia - TV Series and Book verse. All this takes place after episode 6 - the finale of the TV series - and after the book has finished.It is the early 1840s.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!
Series: A New Start [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014321
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Friendship

"Ah, I'm glad I caught you Mr Turton."

He looked up from his current task, polishing the silver cutlery. This daily job was a completely thankless one, but one that needed doing all the same. It was boring, but was one he could easily do with his eyes closed. His face relaxed from an annoyed frown to a neutral one as he raised his head, his hands still working away.

Mrs Morgan was standing in the dining room doorway where he had his work spread out upon the covered dining table. She had developed a slightly unnerving habit of 'catching' him more often these days, especially since his help on the new almshouses south of the river. He wasn't used to Masters or Mistresses seeking him out personally, deliberately. Usually they rang a bell, for him to hurry along to, so as to answer their query. Mrs Morgan seemed to prefer to do the running around herself… And as he was a creature of habit, she usually knew where to accost him at any given time of the day.

"Ma'am?" he tilted his head to the side, returning her smile with a raised eyebrow.

"I just wanted to let you know, if I haven't already, about the library…"

"Yes Ma'am? I mean, you've not mentioned anything specific about it Ma'am? Does it need tidying or… do you need the furniture moving?" he frowned, his hands stilled. _Please say no to moving any more wretched bloody furniture_ he added silently.

"No, no nothing like that," she laughed. "No more furniture moving… not after the… _incidents…_ last time!" she shook her head remembering the smashed vase and frayed tempers of last time… 

_Thank the Lord!_ Mr Turton smiled, remembering her profuse profanities.

"No… I just wanted to let you know, if I hadn't already mentioned, that you are free to read any of the books in the household library, just like the other staff. The books there aren't just there for the family. There's only me after all," she shrugged. "Lucy is too young and Edward has his own set of books in the nursery. Did you know that his favourite at the moment is a large atlas where he's marked out all the places he would like to visit?" she smiled to herself at that thought. _Yes, I know all about that blasted atlas_ Mr Turton thought. He'd already had to put up with a barrage of the young Master's questions about the Amazon River.

"Yes I know all about Master Edward and the atlas, Ma'am… Oh, thank you kindly, Ma'am, about the library." he replied.

"Good..." she smiled. "Er… Well… do carry on Mr Turton," she backed out, frowning to herself. 

He watched her go. He had a niggling feeling that she wanted to say more, but he shrugged, she was sure to find him again if she did. He dropped his head and applied himself back to his tedious task. He had a whole barrel load of novels he'd wanted to read but not had the chance to before. He smiled to himself now as he scrubbed and polished, a long list was forming in his mind.

-

That night, after he'd finished his night-time rounds, checking that all was well with the house, Mr Turton found himself standing in the library. He held his candle aloft and ran a finger along a row of book titles. There were so many, that he was utterly spoilt for choice. He didn't know what to pick, there were so many books here that he had wanted to read since, well forever! But he had never had the opportunity to before. He'd read a few snatches of some that were published as periodicals. They'd been rescued by himself, from the fire kindling pile, where they were carelessly discarded by previous employers. And he'd always avidly devoured the newspapers once any of his employers had finished with them. But he had never had the chance to properly read any novels before. Books were far too much of an expensive luxury for a _mere servant_ to be allowed to touch, or to even afford for themselves! All his savings had been squirreled away into his pension pot. Nothing was left for frivolities like books.

A source of light caught the corner of his eye, he turned to see what, or who, it was.

"My Lady," he bowed as he saw that it was Lady Morgan standing in the library's doorway holding an oil lamp.

"Ah, Mr Turton… I thought all were a'bed…? I mean, it's after you've usually finished up…? I wasn't expecting anyone to be here..."

"Oh, er, they all are Ma'am. In bed. I've just finished my nightly checks and thought, on my way back downstairs, I'd maybe, um, see if I could find something to read...?" he answered, suddenly unsure of what he was doing. He knew he had permission, but he still felt like a child that had been caught pickpocketing by the peelers.

"Oh… pray don't mind me. Please continue, Mr Turton." 

She waved a hand and proceeded over to her favourite spot, the old sofa, folding herself into the seat nearest the window. She carefully sat, placing her oil lamp onto the window ledge beside her, pulling the book that was there, on the ledge, into her lap. His finger was still held aloft, but had paused in its journey along the books as his eyes followed her. He noted that her hair was loose, flowing down her back in long, dark waves. She was dressed as if for bed, a long dressing gown, modestly covering everything. He watched as she kicked her slippers off and brought her legs up, curling them up underneath her, giving him a peek of her naked feet. Mr Turton felt a blush creep up the back of his neck. 

"Is everything alright, Mr Turton?" she frowned at him.

_Oh! Time to leave!_ he thought.

"Oh… Er… Um… I think I'll come back tomorrow. It's been a long day. Good night Ma'am," he bowed and fled back downstairs, not waiting for her acknowledgement. 

-

He tried again the next night, to look through the books in the library after his nightly rounds. This time, she was already there, again swathed in her massive dressing gown, but this time, her hair was tied up and modestly covered under a linen cap. Just the toes of her slippered feet poked out from where they were tucked up beneath her. She smiled a greeting at him as he stood, paused in the doorway.

"Good evening, Mr Turton," she lowered the book she was reading, placing it on her lap, "please don't flee tonight. Come, choose a book and maybe keep me company for a while?" she asked.

_How can I refuse? I would be the utter height of rudeness. Even if it IS unseemly for myself and her Ladyship to be seen together thus, especially with no chaperone for her!_ he thought. His modest uptight self fought with the half of him that really didn't care for propriety as much any more, and just wanted to choose a book and maybe have some human company for once. The latter part of him firmly sat on and gagged the former part of him.

"As you wish, Ma'am," he nodded and headed over to the bookshelves. He felt the heat of her gaze upon his back as he raised his candle to peruse the books. 

He stopped at one he'd been reading about in the newspaper. He pulled it from the shelf, turning and pausing again. The only seat in the library was on the other end of the sofa from where his Mistress is sat. Her face, as she read, was illuminated by the argand lamp which sat on the window ledge at her side. He stayed standing, loitering by the book shelves.

"May I ask what you chose Mr Turton?"

"Oh… er… the new Charles Dickens novel. I read about it's publication in the newspaper a short while ago," he replied.

"Oh! I'm currently in the middle of Nicholas Nickleby. Mr Dickens does have a delightful way about describing London does he not?" she asked. He wondered how much of a certain half of London that her, or _any_ of the upper classes, had seen. Certainly not the bits _he'd_ seen...

"Er… this would be my first of his books that I've read, so I could not venture an opinion yet Ma'am. It will also be the first full novel I've read. Never having had the opportunity to previously..." he admitted.

"Oh! Well then Mr Turton, you are surely in for a treat, as you've a whole library full of novels here to discover!" She indicated the bookshelves with her hand.

He nodded, "Thank you Ma'am. It is most kind of you to allow me access," he said.

"Nonsense! Oh, and if there are any other books that you would like to read, and they are not here, please do let me know. I lost over half of the contents here three years ago due to a leak in the roof. Sadly half of the books had to be thrown out, either destroyed by water or mould. I'm slowly trying to fill the shelves back up again, so any suggestions would be gratefully received." 

She looked up at him, a small smile playing on her face, her eyes twinkled merrily in the lamplight. He looked down at the book in his hands, breaking away from her eyes. His hand gripped the book tightly, and taking a deep breath, he headed over to the sofa. He sat down, as far away from Mrs Morgan as he could possibly get. His posture stiff and formal, a complete contrast to her relaxed pose, where she leaned, draped over the opposite arm of the sofa. He was unsure what to do with his candle and frowned at it. There was no side table for him to place it upon.

"Here, let me take your candle for you Mr Turton," Mrs Morgan said, reaching over.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you, Ma'am," he blew it out, then held it out towards her outstretched hand, where she took it and placed it upon the window ledge, next to her lamp. 

He leant backwards, and opened the book. As he was drawn into its world, he began relaxing. The clock next door in the drawing room rang eleven, it rudely pulled him back out again, into reality. He slowly closed the book and stood.

"I've an early start, as usual tomorrow Ma'am, so I'll bid you goodnight," he bowed and waited for her acknowledgement.

"Your candle Mr Turton, oh and thank you for your company," she gestured over to the side where his candle sat in it's holder.

He nodded, collected his candle, re-lit it and cradling his chosen book, left for his room.

-

He'd been reading late at night in the library, for an hour or so, after his nightly rounds. Sometimes with company, sometimes not. Tonight, he was glad that he was alone. He'd paused in his reading, to contemplate his past, his present and also his future. 

His book lay open on his lap, forgotten for the moment, the pages flicking upwards to form a papery arch, he glared down at it, noting that his place was lost. _Hah! Just like mine is fucking about to be again!_ he thought angrily.

His candle sat next to him, snuffed out, on a small table that had appeared the night after that first time he'd sat with his Ladyship to read. An oil lamp sat on that same table, it was also a new permanent fixture in the library.

He'd thought to come and sit in here, to relax, but he couldn't. He was too wound up, too full of pent up frustration and boiling anger.

Maybe it would have been better if Lady Morgan was here after all. She was always talking to him about her frustrations, maybe the opposite would hold true? He shook his head, no, he'd never been one to talk about his _emotions_ , he'd never had anyone to talk to about them anyway, until now that is. She'd not be interested in his troubles anyway, would she? 

He would miss it here, miss the others, miss how, even though everything about this household railed against his previous ideas of how things 'should be', he still felt more comfortable here than he'd ever been anywhere before. He'd never had so much freedom to just 'be'. To have an opportunity to express himself. He'd especially miss the books and the music. Mrs Morgan often asked for his help in turning the song sheets as she played the piano. He even sang along with her when she'd had one of the newer, modern tunes that he knew. He'd never _ever_ even contemplate just the _thought_ of doing that anywhere before. 

He sighed. He supposed that he'd had a good run here, but it'd be back to normal in a new place. Back to how things should be, even if now, he would detest every second of every day of that old normality. He swore violently. _It was all so fucking unfair!_ He'd not sworn so much as he'd done recently. He'd been in an absolutely foul mood all week. Ever since a chance encounter…

-

He'd happened upon the Trenchards a week ago, as he was on his way back from an errand. His arms were full of a large bouquet of roses. His previous employers were headed directly towards him, on the pavement, so there was no way to hide or avoid them. Mr Trenchard had whispered a comment to his wife as he spotted him. Mr Turton watched, frozen in his tracks as they approached. He had offered them a low bow as they came up to him.

"Sir, Ma'am," he waited for any comments, his eyes averted downwards.

"Turton," Mr Trenchard said curtly. "You've found yourself employment then?" 

"Yes, Sir," he replied. He automatically fell back into his old ways, deferential and curt.

His former employee harrumphed. "Nearby?"

"Yes, Sir."

"May I ask where?" he smiled at Mr Turton.

"If it please you, Sir. I'm currently employed by the Countess of Beaufort, Sir." _Pointless lying, he'll only ask and ask until he bloody found out!_ he thought.

"Well! Does she know about your... previous employment and behaviour?” Mr Trenchard asked.

“Yes, Sir,” he gritted his teeth and stared at his former employee, directly into his eyes, not giving ground. It was not something that he would dare to have done previously. Either with Mr Trenchard, or any of his former employers. It wasn’t the ‘done thing’. Servants could be reprimanded or sacked for such a blatant show of disregard. But, right now, Mr Turton didn't give a fig for any of that. Not when he knew that Mr Trenchard was out to cause him trouble. Mr Trenchard was the first one to look away.

“Well! Good day to you Mr Turton," Mr Trenchard said, frowning. 

"Good day, Sir, Ma'am," Mr Turton replied as he bowed, looking up from the corner of his eye as they passed. He caught his former Mistress looking back at him with a squint-eyed look, her lips pressed firmly together. He stared at their retreating backs. _Fuck!_

-

When he'd returned back to the Morgan household, he'd thrust the roses at Daisy as he passed her in the kitchen. He'd then locked himself away in his office, giving the waste paper basket a good, hard hoofing around the room. 

He'd given the thing a particularly fierce kick, so much so that the damn thing had hit one of the legs of his desk, bounced off of it and hit him on the shin. _Hard!_ He just stared at it. Amazed at the actual, bloody, sheer audacity of it! He'd sworn and sworn, uttering such gutter-trash, filthy, despicable, foul language that even the hardest of Portsmouth Jolly Jack Tars would have reeled back in complete shock and horror!

Mrs Brown had chosen that particular moment to seek him out, to ask him about the roses, as Daisy had passed them into her to deal with. She raised her hand to knock, but paused upon hearing the language from within. _Oh!_ _Maybe, I'll find him later then...!_ she thought as she backed away, slowly and quietly...

Mr Turton sat at his desk, his head in his hands. He swore again, so angry at the complete injustice of everything. He shook his head and sighed. _I may as well make sure that all is in the best order I can get it in for her Ladyship, before I'm forced to bloody-well leave again!_ he thought as he pulled the account book towards him. He lost himself in the numbers and figures that ran over the pages, the blandness and normality of them served to calm his temper. Keeping his anguish from pouring forth and his despair from overtaking his thoughts. They didn't help stop his tears from clouding his vision though. He had to use the blotter to mop up several wet spots in the book as his pen scratched over the paper of its pages.

-

Now, later that night, sitting in the library, he found himself caught up in how his life was being turned upside down and inside out by recent events. Most good, one not so much. He was having trouble processing it all, having not dealt with certain emotions in years…

He reached his hand upwards, touching his chest, feeling for the token he knew to be hanging there from a piece of twine around his neck. Forever hidden under his clothing, next to his skin was his mother's wedding band. A symbol of the only pure love and certainty he'd felt in his life. But those feelings had been cruelly ripped from his grasp. She'd given it to him on her death bed when he was a mere twelve years old. He'd protested, but she'd pressed it into his hands, telling him to give it to the girl her beautiful boy would surely fall for and marry. That was over thirty years ago now and he never did, and never would. He was far too set in his ways to change any of that. Too used to his own lone wolf existence. It didn't mean that he liked being alone, it was just how things were and would ever be for him. As a butler,if you married, you were out of a job.

He'd fled to London shortly after his mother's death, running away from his father's harsh, brutal, religious zealot fueled upbringing. He'd started his decades of service then. Becoming a kitchen boy. 

The nearest he came to that feeling of being loved unconditionally, was a few years later, when he was 18, in the prime of his youth. He was a second under-footman, the lowest of the low of the grand household's staff. The Master's granddaughter had caught his eye. They'd fallen into a lust filled affair, stolen, heated dalliances, hidden away among the straw in the stables. But she'd left all of a sudden, without a hint, he'd never even had a chance to say goodbye. He'd been planning on asking her to elope with him, but his plans had turned to dust, gone, slipped away like sand through his fingers. Again, any semblance of happiness had been torn from him. His heart had hardened again at that hurt. He'd only found out, over a decade later, what had really happened. Why she'd left. She had died in childbirth, the child dead as well, roughly four months after she'd vanished. He had wept for his lost love and the child that he'd never know. Then he'd roughly swiped at his tears, brushing them away. His heart, already hardened, had transformed into the finest white Carrara marble. He'd vowed not to stupidly soften his heart again. He hadn't. Until now, here in this household. His new home.

Now, recently, he felt that his stoney resolve was softening, his hard marble heart slowly crumbling under the onslaught of new, strange feelings. His solitary existence was being replaced by a reliance on others, and others, in turn, happily relying upon him. He was starting to feel comfortable, at peace, in his place, his work, for the first time ever. A stunning revelation had recently hit him, revealing that the shocked lone wolf was being transformed into the leader of a pack. Just as all this was occuring, something was threatening to, yet again, rip his heart out and cruelly crush it under its heel.

He'd _almost_ come to terms with all the various changes in his present life. But his past was threatening to catch him up again. His recent foul tempers were due to his anxiety over how the Trenchard's still had a nagging hold over him. Worry about how they could viciously mess everything up, was pulling the rug from under his new present. His anxiety over waiting and wondering about what they would do, had overtaken everything.

And then there was the newly learnt knowledge that he'd never have to worry about his future, his retirement. That had felt like, well, like the most massive of hefty weights had been taken away from his weary, bent, almost broken shoulders. That heavy weight had now been thrown back at him, crushing him down once again.

_What a strange thing chance is!_ he thought.

He pulled at the twine around his neck, exposing the gold band to the light. It twinkled at him, sparkled as it spun. He smiled, wishing that his mother were still alive to see him now. He dearly hoped that she would be proud of how her only child had turned out. Even with all his mistakes.

That was how Mrs Morgan found him. Sitting on the library sofa, gazing at his mother's wedding ring as it turned in the soft glow of the lamp. She coughed. He gazed upwards, caught.

"Mr Turton?"

"Oh, um… Ma'am?"

"It's a beautiful ring. A sweetheart's perhaps?" she took a few hesitant steps towards him.

"Oh… er… no… It was my mother's," he explained.

"Oh!" she perched herself next to him on the sofa, turning herself so that she was angled towards him. She waited to see if he would elaborate or not. She knew enough about him now to know not to press him for personal details. He'd either clamp shut, door closed, key turned, or he'd set a memory free of his own accord. She knew that it was his choice to make, and either way, she'd happily accept his decision.

"She gave it to me. When she died," the sad memory made him look away, downwards.

"I'm sorry for your loss Mr Turton," she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"Oh it was a good while ago. I was very young, only twelve years old or so," he tried to explain his emotions away, not really wanting to express them to anyone just yet.

"The loss of someone close still hurts, no matter how long ago it was," she answered quietly. "This house has seen many sad passings," she paused, her own sad memories causing her voice to falter. He patted her hand gently where it still rested on his arm. A mutual understanding of keenly felt loss. "But I feel that, recently, some laughter and happiness has finally returned here," she continued. "Our little family has been reformed, new members replacing old, lost ones," she explained. They smiled happily at each other. Neither needing to explain the tears that they could see in each other's eyes.

"Mr Turton… can I ask if everything is alright? You've seemed uncommonly vexed and terse this past week…" she asked quietly, unsure how he'd take this outright question, praying that he wouldn't mind.

He pulled his hand away from hers. It rested in a fist, on his knee, mirroring his other side.

"I happened upon my previous employers, the Trenchards recently…" he offered.

"Oh…," she said, guessing at the problem now. "I had a letter from Mr Trenchard just a few days ago…" she continued.

He looked up quickly at that. _Shit_ he thought. _Here we go…_

She looked over at him and squeezed his arm, where her hand still rested upon him. "We both know that you did wrong back then," she met his eyes and smiled, trying her best at reassuring the panic she could see there. "I feel that I know you well enough now to know that there's no malice in you. I think that you, Mr Turton… Amos… you're a good man who was only forced into doing bad things by desperate circumstances. What you were being accused of in that letter was just…" she paused to shake her head. "In fact, the writing of that letter itself was the only wrong deed I could see there!" She paused, frowning. "It was full of such utter nonsense! About you being untrustworthy, unreliable, a thief and disrespectful," she tutted. "So I threw it into the fire, where such rubbish belongs!"

His eyes snapped up to hers. _Oh!_

"Your book, Mr Turton!" she pointed at his lap.

"Oh!" he grabbed it just in time, stopping it from falling unceremoniously to the floor. He used this as cover for collecting his tattered and shredded emotions, swiftly pulling himself back together again. He looked up at his Mistress and offered her his best, most dazzling smile.

-

It was the night of the monthly meeting of the Morgan Household Debating Society. It didn't scare him any more. This peculiar routine had settled itself into being one of the most favourite parts of his new, albeit odd, normality. A chance for him to express himself freely, with no consequences or punishment awaiting anything he said, well other than having Mrs Brown make fun of him as she so loved doing. He mentally rolled his eyes at that thought. _Annoying woman!_

He looked around at the people he was happily sharing the room with. As diverse a lot as you could get, but all working merrily together to run this, their household, in a most efficient way. A house full of love, respect and happiness. He was deathly glad that Mr Trenchard's spanner had been aimed wrongly, and had missed being thrown into the works. He thought about each of them in turn, of how they fit into their own niche here and had turned this house into a home. 

Daisy was the child of the group, she was fiercely protective of her many substitute parents. She would guard them all devotedly, with her life, oh and with an _extremely_ sharp blade.

Mrs Brown was the solid rock around which the household was built, it's anchor. Making sure that the machinery of the kitchen was running like clockwork to keep the household fed and well. An army marches on its stomach, after all!

Mr and Mrs Jones were the worker bees, toiling away at several diverse things at once, flitting from flower to flower from job to job, all the while adding to their hive's proper function.

Lady Morgan, well, she was the queen of this, her small domain. A benevolent monarch though, steering the household though the rough seas of London life with a strong but gentle hand on the rudder. She was it's heart.

As for himself? He knew what his _job_ was, that was easy. A Butler. But he wasn't too certain of his _role_ here yet, where _he_ fitted in, as the others did. Maybe the high of being told that he was staying here had caused him to ask something he'd ordinarily keep to himself, to mull over internally? Who knew the reason, for him voicing what he usually wouldn't. The question was niggling him as it never would have before. It's answer was perplexing him, evading him, annoying him as it had never would have worried him before. He saw an opportunity and he daringly took it. The old him would never have thought to ask something so personal, he certainly never would never have even contemplated doing so in any household before this one.

So, he used the opportunity of him being the meeting's chairperson to ask each of the others what they thought this role was, what they thought of him.

Daisy answered first. "You're the father I never had Mr Turton, or at least the one I'd want, if I was to be allowed the choosing," she answered. "I sleep much better since you started working here Mr Turton. I feel safe at night, with far fewer horrid night terrors now, knowing that you will always look out for us," she added quietly, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Now then, Daisy," Mrs Brown patted Daisy's hand and offered her a hankie to sniff into. "Mr Turton, well now… You are my trusted co-worker that I can depend on unflinchingly, unquestionably. Not had many _men_ that I could trust like that! Not even my Bert! Ha! I would never have trusted him as far as I could fling his sorry arse! You may be a stuck up old git, one who is oh so very easy to wind up," she winked at him, he glared back, "but you're _our_ stuck up old git. You keep the other half of this household, bits that aren't my lovely kitchen, steadily ticking over and running smoothly. For the first time since I started here, I've not had to raise my voice at an interfering old ninny of a butler," Mrs Brown answered, candid as always.

"I can always rely on you Mr Turton to know the daily schedule," Mrs Jones said, "you're our advisor, and list keeper. Helping to keep track of what needs doing and when," she added.

"Oh yes, without your help," Mr Jones said, "the whole of our tasks would be a complete muddle, a huge confusing mess!" he raised his hand in exasperation. "Since you started here Mr Turton, my lovely wife has shouted less and less at me about my being in the wrong place and doing the wrong thing! Which, in my humble opinion, is a definite improvement!" Mrs Jones sent a happy smile over to her husband, accompanied by a playful swat.

Mrs Morgan, well he was still a little unsure of what she thought of him. He knew that she relied on him in many things. She was forever asking his opinion, constantly pestering him for his thoughts, opinions and help on a myriad of subjects. 

He'd asked her what she thought his role here was, what he was to her, as he had the others. 

She shrugged. "Oh, that is the easiest of questions to answer. You know how I do so rely on you and your opinions on a myriad of things," she answered, eerily echoing his own thoughts. "Because of this, you are my friend Mr Turton," she replied. "And I feel that it's you who has taken over from me as head of this household. Without you, it would be the chaos it once was, before you shook us into shape!"

"No Ma'am, I'm no Lord, that is an utterly preposterous suggestion! I'm not your equal!" he protested, frowning at the outrageous suggestion. He knew that his Mistress was eccentric, but that, what she'd just voiced, it was truly ridiculous! A topsy-turvy disruption of the correct order of things. _A mere lowly Butler raised up to Lordship? Utter madness!_

"But Mr Turton, did you not just hear how much you do for everyone here?" she pointed out to him. "And it's nothing to do with class or being a servant or a Lord. You are who everyone looks to if they need advice or if there's something amiss here. Therefore, you are the head of this household in all but name," she shrugged. "Also, if, as you said, I am the queen bee of this busy hive, then that means that you are its king," she smiled at his shocked snort and shaken head of protest. "Or a knight of the realm at the very least if you would prefer to have a horse over a crown," she laughed at his vehemently shaking head.

He was stunned by all of this, humbled by their answers. He'd never been referred to as any of the things that they'd all called him. His humble question had been answered in ways he'd never imagined.

"Which one of these here names or roles do you think means the most to you Mr Turton?" Mrs Brown asked.

"Oh…" he hesitated, knowing the answer, but uncertain, shy of actually voicing it. He took a few deep breaths in and out to calm himself, then answered. "To be called a friend does, as I've never had the opportunity to be or have one of those before."

His answer was met with silence. _Have I said something wrong?_ he fretted. The silence was broken by several exclamations of 'Oh!' and loud gasps. Then he was witness to the most utterly, ridiculous display of affection he'd ever witnessed! All of them rose and were now vying to hug him all at once! He'd never seen or felt the like before! He spluttered indignantly at their laughter over his attempts to refuse their affections. But this only fueled more of their outrageously, ludicrous hugging! 

-

He'd secretly admitted to himself, later while lying in his bed that night, that he had enjoyed it. That feeling of belonging. Of friendship. Maybe not so much the bloody ridiculous hugging though! Although one small, rebellious part of him enjoyed even that part. He reached up, touching where his mother's ring rested against his chest, and smiled.


End file.
